style="font-size:15px;"> Where thou shalt see the author of thy death,Don Balthazar, the prince of Portingale,
Depriu'd of life by Bel-imperia:
Heere sit we downe to see the misterie,
And serue for Chorus in this tragedie.
[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
[The Spanish Court]
Enter SPANISH KING, GENERALL, CASTILLE, HIERONIMO.
KING. Now say, l[ord] generall: how fares our campe?
GEN. All wel, my soueraigne liege, except some few
That are deceast by fortune of the warre.
KING. But what portends thy cheerefull countenance
And posting to our presence this in hast?
Speak, man: hath fortune giuen vs victorie?
GEN. Victorie, my liege, and that with little losse.
KING. Out Portugals will pay vs tribute then?
GEN. Tribute, and wonted homage therewithall.
KING. Then blest be Heauen, and Guider of the heauens,
From whose faire influence such iustice flowes!
CAST. O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat aether,
Et coniuratae curato poplite gentes
Succumbent: recto soror est victoria iuris!
KING. Thanks to my loving brother of Castille.
But, generall, vnfolde in breefe discourse
Your forme of battell and your warres successe,
That, adding all the pleasure of thy newes
Vnto the height of former happines,
With deeper wage and gentile dignitie
We may reward thy blisfull chiualrie.
GEN. Where Spaine and Portingale do ioyntly knit
Their frontiers, leaning on each others bound,
There met our armies in the proud aray:
Both furnisht well, both full of hope and feare,
Both menacing alike with daring showes,
Both vaunting sundry colours of deuice,
Both cheerly sounding trumpets, drums and fifes,
Both raising dreadfull clamors to the skie,
That valleis, hils, and riuers made rebound
And heauen it-selfe was frighted with the sound.
Our battels both were pitcht in squadron forme,
Each corner strongly fenst with wings of shot;
But, ere we ioyned and came to push of pike,
I brought a squadron of our readiest shot
From out our rearward to begin the fight;
They brought another wing to incounter vs;
Meane-while our ordinance plaid on either side,
And captaines stroue to haue their valours tride.
Don Pedro, their chiefe horsemens corlonell,
Did with his cornet brauely make attempt
To break our order of our battell rankes;
But Don Rogero, worthy man of warre,
Marcht forth against him with our musketiers
And stopt the mallice of his fell approach.
While they maintaine hot skirmish too and fro,
Both battailes ioyne and fall to handie blowes,
Their violent shot resembling th' oceans rage
When, roaring lowd and with a swelling tide,
It beats vpon the rampiers of huge rocks,
And gapes to swallow neighbor-bounding lands.
Now, while Bellona rageth heere and there,
Thick stormes of bullets ran like winters haile,
And shiuered launces darke the troubled aire;
Pede pes & cuspide cuspis,
Arma sonant armis vir petiturque viro;
On euery side drop captaines to the ground,
And souldiers, some ill-maimde, some slaine outright:
Heere falls a body sundred from his head;
There legs and armes lye bleeding on the grasse,
Mingled with weapons and vnboweled steeds,
That scattering ouer-spread the purple plaine.
In all this turmoyle, three long hovres and more
The victory to neither part inclinde,
Till Don Andrea with his braue lanciers
In their maine battell made so great a breach
That, halfe dismaid, the multitude retirde.
But Balthazar, the Portingales young prince,
Brought rescue and encouragde them to stay.
Heere-hence the fight was eagerly renewd,
And in that conflict was Andrea slaine—
Braue man-at-arms, but weake to Balthazar.
Yet, while the prince, insulting ouer him,
Breathd out proud vaunts, sounding to our reproch,
Friendship and hardie valour ioyned in one
Prickt forth Horatio, our knight-marshals sonne,
To challenge forth that prince in single fight.
Not long betweene these twain the fight indurde,
But straight the prince was beaten from his horse
And forcst to yeeld him prisoner to his foe.
When he was taken, all the rest fled,
And
